Darkness Ascending
by littlest clouds
Summary: Yes, Peter dies. I'm sorry.


Title: Darkness Ascending  
Author: Just Alex  
Email: Salsashark30@aol.com  
Fandom: The Talented Mr. Ripley  
Pairing: Tom Ripley/Peter Smith-Kingsley  
Spoilers: Eh, pretty much the entire movie.  
Rating: R for character death.  
Archive: Gorilla-Dust, Movie_Slash, RareSlash, DamonAffleck. Anyone else,   
please ask.  
Disclaimer: The film, book and characters belong to Patricia Highsmith,   
Anthony Minghella, and Miramax. I am not profiting from anything.  
Summary: The slasher's death scene.  
Author's Note: I'm not sure I'm entirely fond of this. This is my first TMR   
fic. Maybe someone will like it.  
Soundtrack: "Desperado," The Eagles, "Breakdown", Tantric, and   
"Falls Apart", Stabbing Westward.  
Dedication: AlmightyChrissy for beta-ing.  
Soundtrack: These are songs I listened to while writing this.  
  
"Ebben? Ne andro lontano" - La Wally (Catalani)  
"O mio babbino caro" - Gianni Schicchi (Puccini)  
"Rabbiteen" - Jack off Jill  
"In This Life" - Chantal Kreviazuk  
"Mobile" - Avril Lavigne  
  
- - -  
  
You better let somebody love you,  
You better let somebody love you before it's too late  
  
- Eagles, "Desperado"  
  
In your life you seem to have it all   
You seem to have control   
But deep within your soul   
You're losing it   
  
- Tantric, "Breakdown"  
  
This is where it falls apart   
This is where it falls apart   
I feel helpless as my everything comes   
Crashing down on me   
This is where it falls apart   
This is where it falls apart   
I feel helpless as my fucking world comes   
Crashing down on me   
Crashing down on me   
  
- Stabbing Westward, "Falls Apart"  
  
***********  
  
Tom pushed open the door of the cabin, and stepped in. "Hi."  
  
"How was it?" Peter asked, studying his sheet music intently, pausing to flip   
a page.  
  
"It was good. But I'll tell you something. I want us to stay in here for the   
rest of the trip."   
  
He let out a soft chuckle. "Was that Meredith?" Peter didn't look up from his   
sheet music, and Tom's heart sunk in his chest like a rock. He sounded so   
disappointed in him.  
  
'I did that,' Tom thought to himself, 'I did that to Peter.'  
  
Tom tried desperately to conceal his surprise and fear from Peter's ears.   
"Was who Meredith?" Tom asked, breathlessly, his heartbeat echoing in his   
ears.  
  
"Meredith Logue. You were kissing someone that looked like Meredith," he   
said. "I came out to find you..." He trailed off, and an uncomfortable   
silence hung in the air between the two men, and Tom felt his reserve begin   
to crumble.  
  
He tried to appear as nonchalant as possible, but inside, he was losing   
control. His control was falling away from him, like sand in a timeglass.   
"Hardly kissing. Kissing off."   
  
Peter sounded skeptical, and Tom knew right away that he had hurt him.   
"Didn't look that way - from a distance."   
  
"I lied. To her. She thought she'd seen you." Tom coiled the gray sash of   
Peter's bathrobe around his hand, behind his back, approaching slowly.  
  
"Why lie?" Peter inquired, softly.  
  
"Dickie and Peter, that's just too good gossip, isn't it?" he asked,   
laughing, knowing the moment the words slipped out of his mouth, that he'd   
made a terrible blunder.  
  
Peter furrowed his brow. "Or /Tom/ and Peter even."  
  
Tom laughed, nervously, struggling to regain his control, but by now, it was   
far too late. Far too late. "Well, that would be even better gossip."  
  
"Really, why?" Peter asked, incredulous, shutting his portfolio and putting   
it aside. He shook his head and avoided Tom's eyes, shrugging his shoulders.   
"Sorry, I'm completely lost."  
  
"I know. I'm lost, too." Tom whispered, so low, that Peter strained his neck   
to hear. "I'm going to be stuck in the basement, aren't I, that's my. .   
.terrible and alone and dark. . .and I've lied about who I am, and where I   
am, and so nobody can ever find me."  
  
Peter looked up at him now, his dark eyes piercing, inquisitive. "What to do   
you mean 'lied about who you are'"  
  
Tom smiled, an empty gesture. "I supposed I always thought it would be better   
to be a fake somebody than a real nobody."  
  
"What are you talking about? You're not a nobody. That's the last thing you   
are."  
  
"Peter, I... I..."  
  
"And don't forget. I have the key." Peter offered Tom a smile.  
  
"You have the key." Tom lay down on the bed next to Peter, resting against   
his strong back, feeling the beating of Peter's heart under his cheek. "Tell   
me some good things about Tom Ripley," he whispered, tears pricking the   
corners of his icy blue eyes, threatening to spill over. "No, don't get up,   
don't get up, don't get up," he said, when Peter moved to sit up. "Just tell   
me some nice things about Tom Ripley."  
  
"Good things about Tom Ripley? Could take me some time." He paused,   
thoughtful, pensive, and Tom fell more in love with him as each second ticked   
away. That was why it was hurting so much. "Tom is talented. Tom is tender...   
Tom is beautiful..."  
  
His heart ached and shuddered, as he wrapped the sash around his hand, idly.   
  
"You're such a liar." Tom laughed, or maybe he sobbed. He could not quite   
tell.  
  
Maybe they were one and the same.  
  
"Tom is musical," Peter continued, resting his cheek on his forearm, smiling   
peacefully. "Tom is not a nobody. Tom has secrets he doesn't want to tell me,   
and I wish he would."  
  
Tom closed his eyes, his cheek pressed into the small of Peter's back,   
pulling the gray sash taut in his hands.  
  
Peter continued on, his voice silky and soothing. "Tom has nightmares. That's   
not a good thing. Tom has someone to love him. That's a good thing."  
  
Tom pressed himself against Peter, sobbing without abandon now, crushing   
himself into Peter.  
  
"Tom is crushing me," Peter whispered. "Tom is crushing me..."  
  
Tom knew what he had to do, there was no turning back now. He had to do it.   
  
Tom pulled the cord tightly around Peter's neck.  
  
Peter, some small part of his brain realizing that his life was now in   
danger, struggled to breathe. "Tom, you're crushing me!"  
  
But he didn't hear him. Instead, a rushing sound filled his ears, drowning   
out Peter's pleas for his life.  
  
And even if he *had* heard Peter cry for his life, would he have stopped?  
  
When Tom opened his eyes, felt the body beneath him, he looked down.  
Peter lay on his stomach, unmoving. Tom turned Peter onto his back, gently,   
and pressed his cheek against his chest, searching desperately for a   
heartbeat, a sign of life.  
  
Nothing.  
  
His chest did not rise, because his lungs did not fill with precious oxygen.   
  
His heart did not beat because it was dead - Peter was dead.  
  
Realizing what he'd done - he'd killed the one person who truly loved him -   
Tom began to cry.  
  
"Peter, oh God, Peter," he whimpered softly, gathering Peter into his arms,   
"oh Peter." He pressed his ear to Peter's chest. Alas, no heartbeat.  
  
The boat swayed in the embrace of the ocean, and Tom pressed against Peter's   
body - his shell.  
  
Because that was all it was, now. The soul, the warmth that had lit Peter's   
eyes up and made him so beautiful, that was gone now.  
  
Instead, Peter's eyes just stared up at the ceiling of their small room,   
blankly.   
  
Tom brushed his fingertips over his eyelids, gently, shutting Peter's eyes.  
  
He wondered what the last thing it was that Peter had seen. Was it Tom,   
wrapping the bathrobe sash around his neck? Was it the ugly, plain walls of   
the cabin?  
  
Tom lay like that, spooning himself against Peter, wrapping Peter's arms   
around his waist.   
  
Tom closed his eyes and clung to Peter's hands, searching for a little   
guidance.  
  
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, kissing Peter's knuckles. "I'm so so sorry,   
Peter. . . Please forgive me, please forgive. . .me."  
  
As he lay like that, pressed against Peter's chest, he closed his eyes.  
  
But Tom found that he was no longer alone.  
  
Dickie, submerged in water, stared out at Tom with dead, hollow eyes.   
  
Reptilian Freddy Miles, thick lips twisted into an eternal grimace, blood   
soaking through his cap.  
  
And Peter, sweet, innocent Peter. His Peter.  
  
His Peter.  
  
- - -   
  
Dusk was quickly giving way to night, when Tom dragged the heavy steamer   
trunk out onto the deck.  
  
Not a star was out in the sky, and Tom shivered, feeling the cold, biting   
wind lap at his skin.  
  
He dragged the trunk to the railing and paused a minute, sitting down a   
moment to catch his breath, before continuing his task.  
  
He turned the trunk onto its side and heaved it over the railing, waiting for   
the splash of water, as it made contact with the ocean below.  
  
"Good bye, Peter," Tom whispered, curling his fingers into a half-wave, the   
tears staining his cheeks. "You deserved so much more. So much more than me."  
  
He pulled his coat tight around his shoulders, Peter's score tucked under his   
arm, and headed back for his cabin.  
  
***********  
  
the end.  
  
- Salsa


End file.
